


To Win a Game

by S_L_Blake



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Comfort, Family, Gen, Hurt, Quidditch, apologetic Lucius, not about winning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29067291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_L_Blake/pseuds/S_L_Blake
Summary: *ONE-SHOT* During a school Quidditch match, Draco realises that sometimes it isn't always about winning.
Kudos: 1





	To Win a Game

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, this is a submission for the Celebrating Good Times Competition in the second issue of QLFC’s season 9 Daily Prophet over on FFnet. Thank you to my wonderful teammates CupCakeyyy and ViolaMoon for betaing this. I do not own any rights to Harry Potter; they belong to J.K. Rowling.

The roar of the crowd around the stadium sent shivers of delight through Draco. He had always wondered what it would be like to play Quidditch and now he knew – it was exhilarating to listen to the Slytherin crowd scream and cheer with applause from their stand with some students waving banners above their heads in celebration as Slytherin took a sixty-point lead. The stand itself was decorated in deep green and silver with the serpent in the middle writhing on the fabric. He could recall his excitement at being a spectator last year and the overwhelming ache of longing to be up in the air, but the wait had been worth it. It had been a long time coming for Draco to have this moment here in mid-air on his broom and he was glad that he was finally here, Seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch team.

His love of flying had been apparent ever since he was a boy. He had spent as much time as he could on his toy broom out in the vast gardens that seemed to go on forever at the back of Malfoy Manor under the watchful yet happy eye of his mother. He knew she had been glad he’d found something that he loved. His father however had never shared the joy, either too busy with meetings or in his office. The only time that Lucius Malfoy had ever bothered to have any input with his son’s love of flying was when Draco had fallen from his broom at seven years old and landed on one of the rough paving stones that created a path down from the garden back to the patio, cutting his leg just across the knee. 

Even now Draco could still recall the words that had begun to harden his heart, the joy of being a carefree child leeching away from his being because of his father.

 _Malfoys do not cry. Showing emotion is weakness, boy._ The words vibrated around in his mind like a crescendo in his father’s demeaning tone. Draco remembered how his father’s thin fingers had captured his chin, the pain stinging as they dug in, making him meet the same grey eyes that he had. It was his mother that had hugged and comforted him, healing his wound.

He should have known then at such a young age that his father wouldn’t change, that it would be pointless to try to please him, to hope that he would ever be proud of him, when their relationship was complex at best. But no, even now at twelve years old he was still determined to have his father be proud of him. It was a battle he should have known he would never win.

His thoughts changed to what Marcus Flint had told him in the changing room before the start of the match.

_“I never chose you because of your father, Draco. I chose you because of your skill, you’re young but you have the potential to be a great Seeker. What you must remember though is it’s not about winning the game; it’s about having fun and working as a team.”_

Remembering the older student’s words had lifted his spirits considerably and he smiled, the feeling of being free as a bird in the air, flowing through to his very soul. His team was impressive, from the spectacular way Bletchley defended the golden hooped goal posts with no hint of worry in his eyes, just sheer power, to the way Flint shot through the air, almost elegant for a hulking muscular player. He flew with the grace of a dancer, swerving Bludgers and rolling away from any collisions with the Gryffindor players. It made Draco proud to be a part of the team, they were a unit, all having a job to do and he was no different.

He’d been hovering in this spot at the south-eastern corner of the pitch, not just to take in the match’s atmosphere, but to survey his surroundings for the small golden ball with wings that went as fast as a hummingbird to the point they may as well have been invisible.

The change in the weather, a blanket of steady rain that fell all around them, biting into his hands like tiny needles along with the howling cold that was the wind didn’t alter his mood, if anything, it was refreshing. He grinned, pleased at the fact that Potter could hardly go anywhere or try to search for the Snitch without his two new guards – the Weasley twins, defending him from what seemed to be a rogue Bludger intent on the lightning scarred boy as its victim. Wherever Potter went, it followed and there had been narrow misses with other players who had had to get out of the way from the rampaging ball of destruction before they fell into the firing line.

He knew he shouldn’t but his eyes strayed to the stand that housed the staff and found his father watching the game with a look of boredom on his face as he stood beside Snape. They could have been twins with their matching black robes, had it not been for his father’s white blond hair. He had hoped when his father had said in the weekly letter that he would be attending the match that it was for Draco, but he knew deep down that the only reason his father had decided to appear was because he was on the board of school governors.

Flint’s shout over the din of the crowd tore Draco away from his thoughts and he was glad of it. It would do no good dwelling, even if he wanted to win the game, not just for the team but so that his father would be proud of him for once.

“Oi, Malfoy! Haven’t you got a job to do?” Marcus yelled, dodging an incoming Bludger with lithe finesse before pointing towards a golden shimmer not that far from Draco.

“Got it!” Draco replied loudly enough for the captain to hear before he sped forwards, leaning his body over his broom to give himself the edge in speed he needed, his hands clasped on the sleek oak handle. He swerved to the left avoiding one of the twins before pushing onward, getting closer to the winged ball that was bouncing in and out of sight as it moved in the air. He was just about to reach out to grab it when he saw Potter coming his way with the Bludger hot on his trail. Draco rolled to the right before coming up and glaring at the raven-haired boy for making him lose the small golden ball.

“Resorting to dirty moves, Potter, with that damned Bludger? I’m surprised you’re without your dutiful guards but then you seem to have a death wish,” Draco said, sarcasm dripping from every word. His grey eyes surveyed around them every few minutes to see where the Bludger would appear from.

“Shut up, Malfoy! You haven’t caught the Snitch yet,” Potter retorted, green eyes blazing with determination which irked Draco.

Draco didn’t know why he let the other boy get under his skin but he despised him for it. Instead of looking for the Snitch or keeping an eye out for the rogue Bludger, he continued with the war of words, resolute in having the last say.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say that was your weak attempt at a threat, Potter. A shame really, given you can’t really expect to beat me on that piece of kindling especially when I think you’ll be coming off it before long,” he stated matter-of-factly, a smirk gracing his lips.

“That Bludger is not going to stop me, Malfoy! You thought I couldn’t catch Neville’s Rememberall last year and I did, I’ll wipe that smug grin off your face today too.”

“I’d like to see you…” the words however died on Draco’s lips the moment Harry disappeared into thin air, or so it seemed.

There were shouts of thinly veiled terror from the stands, with a scream echoing from the Gryffindor seats. He followed the noise and saw that Potter was the reason. The Bludger had hit him and he’d dived after the Snitch with one hand on the handle, the other against his chest. It was the moment the whistle blew that Draco knew his arch nemesis had caught the golden ball. Cheers erupted from the Gryffindor stand in celebration while the rest of the students began to vacate their seats.

The fact that he’d cost his team the game by being so caught up in his squabble with Potter made him feel sick to his stomach. He’d let his guard down and he had no one to blame but himself. He didn’t bother looking across at the teachers’ stand as he passed on his way to the Slytherin entrance. It was bad enough having the guilt of losing eat at him like a maggot, he didn’t need to see the dismay that would surely be on his father’s face.

Once inside the brightly lit entrance tunnel, he dismounted quickly and walked swiftly to the end of the passage and down the stairs towards the changing room corridor. He couldn’t bear to face his teammates either. All he wanted was to get changed back into his school robes and go back up to the castle.

He was just about to cross the hall and go into the changing room when the door at the end of the stone corridor opened, the crack of the bottom of the cane ricocheting off the walls, signalling his father’s entrance. Tension stiffened Draco’s body at the knowledge of what was to come.

He turned and met his father’s grey-eyed gaze, his face a clear mask of disappointment on his pale face. Not that Draco was surprised; he knew that he would be. “Well, that was certainly a waste of my time coming here today. You’re a disgrace, boy,” Lucius said, his regal voice rich with contempt.

“I know it’s my fault, you don’t need to rub it in my face, Father! I did try, not that it means anything to you, it never does. Can’t you just be proud of me for once?” Draco replied, covering the short distance between them, feeling the anger overtake the tension that had run through his body at his father’s entrance. He knew he shouldn’t be talking to him like this but he was past caring. The defiance he felt at speaking back to his father gave him unwavering strength. He would stand his ground.

Draco could see his father’s eyes visibly widen at his rebuke, shock glinting in them, his posture seemed to flail slightly too, as though the wind had been blown from his sails. The silence that fell between them was filled with nervous tension as Draco waited for his father’s response. They were close enough that he could see the way Lucius’ body rose and fell with his breathing, but also that if he wanted to, he could easily hit Draco.

He was within reach.

The shock fell away and to Draco’s surprise was replaced with a harrowing pain not just in his father’s eyes but his voice, once rich, now it seemed weak and jaded. “You don’t think I’m proud of you?”

Draco let the words of the tirade that had been building up inside him fly, not caring if it hurt his father. Maybe he would finally see how broken his son was inside because of his neglect, his lack of love.

“You never have, everything I’ve ever done was to make you proud. All I’ve ever wanted was a hug or even a pat on the back, to know that you love me but you were never there. The odd times you were you treated me like a possession that can be easily thrown away like a piece of rubbish.” He could feel his cheeks burning, his heart beating rapidly while his hands clenched into fists to stop them from shaking at his sides but he would not cry, he would not break in front of this man, not now.

“I’ve failed you,” the words came out in a hushed whisper. “For that, I am sorry. I was raised by my own father to believe that to show emotion was weakness, that’s why I tried to instil in you a notion of control, but you were just a child… You _are_ a child… You aren’t a disgrace, Draco. I said it because I was angry… angry at myself for so much time wasted by being cruel, hurting you and ruling with an iron fist.” He swallowed the hard lump in his throat and set the cane against the wall before kneeling on his haunches so that they were at the same height.

Draco watched his father reach out to touch his face. The fear of being slapped was there but the touch on his cheek was soft, almost feather light, the nerves being replaced by a calm he hadn’t felt before. “I’ve always been proud of you, Draco, my son. You are my greatest creation. I used to watch you when you were little outside in the garden; how free you were flying. That day you fell, I should never have reprimanded you, I should have hugged you. Today, watching you out there, I saw the carefree happy boy again, the boy you should always be, Draco. I am _so proud_ of you. You didn’t win the game but that doesn’t matter, it’s not always about winning. You had fun. I could see it and that… that’s what matters, son.”

Draco felt the tears fall freely down his face and he didn’t stop them as he embraced his father, feeling the man’s arms go around him, holding him while one moved up to stroke his hair gently. Both of them holding onto the other for dear life. This was what he’d always needed – to know that his father loved him and he did.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, let me know what you thought by leaving a review.
> 
> I'll see you all soon,
> 
> S L Blake x
> 
> P.S. I’m Chaser 1 for the Caerphilly Catapults this season on Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, there are still plenty of spaces for a number of fab teams including ours, so, if you’d like a new challenge, head on over to the forum and sign up.


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